


Night Terror

by WindmillGhost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Spookiness, Dreams, Gen, Implied Violence, Monster!Jon, Stream of Consciousness, Unreliable Narrator, setting up the surgery in MAG125 from melanie's perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22350520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindmillGhost/pseuds/WindmillGhost
Summary: Melanie reminisces about the thing in her dreams that looks like Jonathan Sims but isn't, and when it decided to start appearing outside of her dreams.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Night Terror

**Author's Note:**

> Considering adding an illustration to this later, since the idea came from some sketches I was doing.  
> (edit: altered some of the grammar)  
> (edit: added the illustration!)

Melanie was certain that thing wasn’t Jonathan Sims. The thing in her dreams. 

Oh sure, it _looked_ like him. She couldn’t usually get a good look, granted; the figure tended to be obscured, hidden in shadow, or only half-there. Only allowing her to see enough to know that she wasn’t alone. It was still pretty obvious who it was _meant_ to be. Melanie couldn’t forget the look of that remarkably punchable face, even with the smugness drained out of it in the sick red haze of her dreams. It has been a real shock to go back to the Institute again, after she had become confident that this vision has started to degrade over time. That the man’s face really was more worn, weak, and filled with holes, and that it wasn’t just an invention of her mind, was difficult information to process. But still, even if it was an accurate portrayal, it wasn’t the real thing.

Its eyes were the tell. Big surprise, right? As if every weird thing that happened in the Institute didn’t have to do with eyes. But Melanie didn’t know that at the time-- this was the first weird eye thing. The real Jonathan, even at his worst, didn’t ever look at her like that. They weren’t _emotionless_ , even though that would have been the first descriptor to leap to mind. His face was drained of the tension it was normally so burdened with, leaving the dream-Jonathan with an utterly blank expression. His eyes, though, were alight with feeling. Whatever the feeling was supposed to be, it was nothing Melanie would expect from any person in her nightmare scenario. It was focused and alert, but free of malice-- the pure anticipation of the chattering cat, the pointing dog, the child at the zoo. Melanie could not help but feel like she was face to face with some kind of alien creature that had never stepped foot in the real, waking world. She was equally certain that it wanted to. If a one-person play in the confines of a single, narrow memory entertained it so much, she couldn’t imagine what kind of sick thrill it would get with an entire planet of souls to torment. The ceaseless energy in those eyes was only broken by the occasional spasm of motion in his face, flashing a moment of some human emotion that, while more familiar, didn’t stop her from waking up utterly chilled.

Of course, those dreams had long since stopped. Well, it felt like “long since” when her life was flooded in a deluge of other dangerously weird shit. Melanie hoped she could forget about it. She couldn’t, though. It was difficult when she had to keep working alongside the man with the face of her nightmares (though she was certain it was not him) and within the institute that was the root of it all. It didn’t feel like a relief, when she couldn’t convince herself for a moment that her not seeing the dreams meant they were over with. It just felt like a matter of time before it reared its prying, expressionless face into her life.

After a few months of Jon all but dead, she started to hope. It would have been a shame, when she had almost started to let go of her contempt for the man and concede that he was, as a person, pretty alright. A shame, but probably better for the world as a whole, if the rest of his paranormal baggage went with him. Of course that wasn’t what happened, though, and just the news filled her with dread without any real cause. 

But the dread was a premonition on her part. It only took Jon’s first day back, when she came too close to his office and see that the thing from her dreams was no longer locked away from the waking world. It protested and sniveled with the man’s voice, and it was his face which twisted in a parody of concern, but she knew better than to think it was him. When its body flinched away from the stapler crashing precariously close to its head, the eyes were still peering out with that blank curiosity she had seen dozens, if not hundreds of times before. One look, and she knew it had finally broken out. Just like it wanted, it was here.

Melanie couldn’t say she minded the unspoken policy that the two never stray within sight of each other. She did mind Basira seeming to be concerned for the thing’s continued life. Hearing her call it “Jon” wasn’t easy to stomach, either. Really, she’d rather have the nightmares than this. If she could seal it back away by going back to that perfume-tinged hospital or rusty train car every night, she would make that exchange. With how her life was going, Melanie wouldn’t even needed to exchange any _good_ dreams in the deal, just somewhat more spontaneous nightmares. She didn’t even remember what had been haunting her sleep on that one particular night. After the medication let her drift off, she was wrapped in temporary, peaceful oblivion. Another false sense of security, before the world came back to haunt her. 

She awoke to the sound of someone breathing heavily above her. There was a hand next to her waist, not quite touching her body but pressing down on the cot. As her gut filled with ice, she almost considered not opening her eyes. Almost.

She couldn’t see much of what night terror had arrived, but there was a figure in front of her. It was kneeling near her feet but leaning forward, pinning down her lower half with its arms. Its head moved, and a glimmer caught on its eyes, burning with excitement like two cold embers in the dark.

The smell of blood was in the air, and Melanie knew it was hers.


End file.
